


Recovery

by Pastel_Teacups



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: But Still Very Sad, Cured John, Depression, First Class-Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide Attempt, The Cure, not as sad as it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2017881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Teacups/pseuds/Pastel_Teacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is cured, and Bobby can't just leave him there on Alcatraz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

It hadn’t been until the fight was over that Bobby realized it. 

John must’ve woken up before it was over, must’ve wandered around and tried to help, because when Bobby looked behind the rather large clump of debris where he’d hidden John’s sleeping form, there was nothing and nobody there. 

Suddenly frantic and naturally fearing the worst, Bobby had to search for only a moment before he’d relocated his old friend. 

He was again unconscious, lying there with his eyes closed and . . . no. 

It couldn’t be. But it was. 

Bobby couldn’t help but stare in utter horror at the syringe sticking out of his friend-turned-enemy’s arm. 

It made his stomach turn, knowing the kind of toll this would take on Pyro, on John, on what was once his friend. 

And to go through it alone . . . 

“Hey, Storm!” He called, shattering the current silence that surrounded them. 

Bobby couldn’t let him go. He supposed he never could. 

~~~~

When John wakes, it’s with a pounding headache and in a _bed_. That’s new. 

His eyes open even though he desperately wants to go back to sleep, more curious of his current whereabouts than the state of his sleep schedule. Figure out where you are, then go back to sleep. Personal words to live by. 

It’s his room. His room, at the school. The ceiling hasn’t changed, the posters on his wall, his roommate-

Oh. 

“You’re awake,” Bobby stutters, surprise in his voice. 

It makes John uneasy. How long had he been asleep? 

He sits up despite his better judgement, brown eyes cataloging every change to their room. 

There isn’t much. 

“Why do you sound so surprised?” John asks, though his voice is guarded. Firm. He’s not having a chat with a friend anymore. He’s talking to the enemy. 

Bobby shifts uneasily, shrugging. “You’ve been out a few days. Everyone was getting pretty worried.” 

That doesn’t make sense. John left. He isn’t a part of the X-Men’s prayer circle anymore (if he ever was). 

Worry fills him. He can think of very few reasons why the Iceman would be worried about him. And several of those make him panic. “What happened to me?” 

Bobby shuffles, looks away and touches the water glass on John’s bedside table. It chills, but John isn’t looking at it. 

“Tell me.” 

He’s firm, demanding, and a part of him has Magneto to thank. Magneto, what was made of him after all was said and done? 

John shakes his head to clear it. He’ll have time to ask such questions later. He has answers of his own to extract. 

Bobby looks mildly uncomfortable, and John momentarily congratulates himself before he goes back to worrying. 

“Well, during the fight, I hid you so you’d be safe, because I’d knocked you out, and-” 

“I remember,” John interrupts, his eyes not leaving Bobby’s. “Skip to the end.” 

Iceman shifts, shuffles his feet for a second. “Somebody hit you with the cure,” he mumbles, and John almost doesn’t hear him. 

Almost. 

“What?” He demands after a stunned moment, his voice softer than it had been just a moment ago. Weaker. 

Bobby glances up at him, nodding softly. “I don’t know who did it. I-I’m sorry.” 

John knows. He knows exactly who did this to him. 

Bobby doesn’t stop him when he pulls himself to his feet, wordlessly stumbling out into the corridor. 

The older students stare at him as he walks purposefully past them, and some even take cautious steps back to keep out of his way. 

John doesn’t stop until he’s outside, seated on some bench in the shade that he can vaguely remember. 

He knows this bench. He used to do homework here, or distract himself from such. 

Now, though, he only curls into himself, tears he’s not willing to let fall stinging his eyes. 

It’s gone. Everything. Every last bit of the only thing that made him Pyro. Gone now forever. 

He isn’t sure how long he stays like that, knees pressed to his chest and fighting back tears, but he only moves when he feels a gentle hand on his back. 

His first movement in what must have been hours, given the apparent setting sun, is only to twitch away from what was probably meant to be a “comforting gesture.” 

Turning his head, John isn’t exactly shocked to see Bobby there, retracting his hand awkwardly. “John-” 

“Don’t,” he interrupts, shaking his head to silence whatever condolence Bobby was about to offer. “Just don’t.” 

He doesn’t. Bobby only looks down at his hands and remains silent. Then, after a moment, he tries again, sitting down beside John without touching him. “The cure’s new. There are bound to be a few mistakes, maybe-” 

“Where’s my lighter?” He doesn’t mean to interrupt, truly, but it only just occurred to him that his pockets were empty. 

“Are you sure?” Bobby asks. “Maybe you should. . .” 

“Give it to me.”

With more than a little hesitation, Bobby reaches into his pocket and withdraws John’s Zippo. It’s the same as the last time he saw it, but now it only makes John’s stomach drop. 

Bobby sets it in his hand with surprising care, and John has to stare at it to make sure it’s real. Then, he opens it. 

It takes him two tries for the flame to ignite, and when it does John feels sick. 

He can’t feel the surge of energy, the itch to control what the lighter had created. 

He suddenly feels very cold. 

He closes the lighter with a soft _click_ , disrupting the silence around him. 

From some far-off place in his mind John hears Bobby ask him a question, ask if he was okay. 

And then, all at once, he breaks. 

Previously concealed tears fall down his cheeks and he curls into himself, holding back a sob. 

Bobby apparently finds that moment the one to surge forward, wrapping his arms around John and pulling him to his chest. 

And John can’t find it in him to pull away, doesn’t want to, because Iceman has always been surprisingly warm and he’s even more so now. His arms feel stronger than before, more muscular, and John’s again reminded that they aren’t clueless seventeen year olds anymore. 

He can feel Bobby’s shirt against his cheek, knows that he’s soaking it with his tears, but Bobby doesn’t seem to mind as he carefully strokes his fingers down John’s back. 

He only stops crying when he can’t find the energy to do so anymore, and finds himself unwilling to leave Bobby’s arms as he recovers from his first show of genuine emotion in almost a year. So he just shifts until he’s comfortable and gives a shaky sigh, willing Drake to just keep his damn mouth shut. 

But, after a few prolonged minutes spent in silence, John’s the one to break it. 

“Magneto?” His voice is soft, thick with emotion. 

Bobby hesitates. “Cured.” 

“Rogue?” 

It’s carefully toned, nervous. They both know why he’s asking. 

They’d had a . . . thing, once. John personally doesn’t dignify it with calling it a relationship. It wasn’t real enough.

While Bobby and Rogue ran around and held hands between pieces of material John was the real deal, exchanging frantic kisses with Bobby in the dead of night, and eventually exchanging something more. In cold mornings Bobby would tell him that it hadn’t meant anything, that he was still with Rogue and that this still couldn’t keep happening. He’d dress for class and leave John still laying in bed, tired and wondering why this was his life. 

“That was a long time ago, John-” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” He interrupts, not willing to have _that_ conversation so soon. 

Bobby sighs the sigh that means he wants to say something but doesn’t, only tightens his hold around John’s shoulders. “She took the cure. And left two days ago.” 

John doesn’t comment. He’s learned when his comments aren’t appreciated. 

They sit like that for a while, John gripping a lighter that now can do nothing more than light a cigarette for him. 

The sky’s dark by the time Bobby speaks again, the moon rising over the horizon at an achingly slow pace. 

“Are you going to stay?” 

It’s so quiet, so unsure, and it’s one of the few times John hears _Bobby’s_ voice, not the voice of the leader he’d become. 

There’s another moment. John never liked uncomfortable silences, but this doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as it should. 

He already knows the answer. 

“Yeah,” he finally says, nodding as much as he can against Bobby’s shoulder. 

Bobby nods softly in return, leaning his head against John’s chest and smiling smally. 

“Alright.”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John not only has to readjust to mansion life, he has to readjust to human life.

It takes a while, for John to readjust to life at the mansion. 

He wanders around the grounds more often than not, as if to reassure himself of the fact that he’s actually _here,_ in this place he used to live. 

(Bobby calls it home. John isn’t quite so sure.) 

More than being here, though, it takes more out of John to figuring out everyday life as a _human._

He still keeps his lighter in his hand at all times, idly flicking it open and shut and trying not to feel empty when he can’t control the flame. He never smiles, hasn’t done so since long before Alcatraz, though he guesses that nobody expects him to. Nobody expects anything but betrayal out of him, and they give him dirty looks when he passes them in the corridors.

Bobby is there more than anyone. Mr. Summers is dead, along with what was left of Dr. Grey, and the Professor, Magneto cured and the rest of the Brotherhood scattered.

He tries not to think about Mystique, what happened to her after Magneto left that day. She’d been his closest friend there, more of a mentor than he could’ve hoped. 

He can still remember, if he thinks about it, the day he joined them on that helicopter. 

She’d dragged him to some diner after asking if he was hungry and he’d answered affirmative, hidden beneath some blonde form to buy him a meal. 

He must’ve seemed disgruntled, because after nearly five minutes of quiet between them, Mystique spoke. 

“Love’s a bitch.” She’d said, wrapping her fingers around her coffee cup. 

John scoffed, stabbing at his hash browns. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I’m not an idiot,” she argued, leaning forward. “I know that look on your face. I don’t know who you left tonight, but I know how it feels. To have to leave.” 

Mystique paused, looking down at her drink. John had only stared down at his own food, trying to grasp her meaning. 

“It takes a lot of guts, kid.” She finally finished, nodding softly. “I respect you.”

John’d glanced up then, surprise written on his face. “Thanks, I guess.” 

He’d never expected to gain Mystique’s respect, of all people, but he’d known it was as good a start as any. 

Now, though, his most vivid memory of her is the fear that lingered in her eyes when Magneto turned his back on her. Even he had to admit, that was cold.

And now, he’ll likely never see her again. Not that he couldn’t recognize her anymore. 

Bobby pulls him out of his thoughts, sitting down beside him. He’d been seated in the kitchen for a while now, not willing to turn on the lights even as the room darkened with the sky. 

Somebody’d made hot chocolate and firmly placed his cool fingers around a mug a few minutes ago, but he hadn’t looked up to see who as they stepped out of the room. Maybe somebody else did care for him, if only he knew who. 

Now the lights were on (thanks to Bobby, John guessed) and the world came back into focus, a slightly painful experience on John’s part. 

He takes a sideways glance at Bobby, who’s accompanied by a bowl of ice cream. It’s strange, how little they’ve both changed, while at the same time having changed so much. It’s becoming more obvious day by day. The habit Bobby’s always had to bite his nails when he was concentrating, or the way John curled up on a couch to keep warm when he was too lazy to get up to find a blanket hadn’t changed. Everything else had. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

Bobby always speaks first. John doesn’t speak much at all anymore, let alone to initiate conversation. 

It’s a moment before he speaks, and he can sense Bobby’s moment of sheer panic, fear that John’s having one of _those_ days again, those days being the ones where John can’t find it in him to speak, doesn’t see a point in doing so. 

But he isn’t having one of _those_ day, so after a moment he shifts in his seat and shrugs. “No better than yesterday.” 

It doesn’t change. He isn’t sick. Only human. 

Bobby shifts, eats his ice cream in silent contemplation on his next statement. 

“Is anything else the matter?” He finally asks, and John’s hand leaves the mug and tugs the lighter from his pocket, flicking it open and shut with a small movement of his fingers. 

“Nothing at all, Bobby,” John starts, and they both know where this is going by the bitterness in his voice. 

Bobby interrupts him before he can get too far into his rant, putting up a hand. “Come on, John. Don’t be like this.” 

“Like what?” He demands, flicking his lighter incessantly. “Like I haven’t been stripped of everything that made me _me_?” _Click. Click._ “Like I haven’t lost everything?” 

“You haven’t.” Bobby argues, the temperature of the room dropping slightly. “You know that.” 

“Everything _real_.” John retorts, shaking his head as he stands. “Not touch-starved sex in the middle of the night because your girlfriend could kill you if you tried it with her.” 

It’s clear that he’d caught Bobby at a loss for words, and he doesn’t give him time to recover before he storms out of the kitchen, looking for one damn place in this school where he could be alone for a few hours. 

His search comes up with a broom closet without a light, and he sits in the darkness and wishes it would swallow him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 should be up soon! I hope everyone enjoyed this embarrassingly short one! 
> 
> Comments + Kudos are greatly appreciated!


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes three weeks human to break John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major TW for Attempted Suicide in this Chapter!!

He’s only three weeks into “normal life” when it happens. 

Bobby’s stepping into his and John’s room after a grueling training session with Kitty when he hears a quiet, barely-audible whimper coming from John’s side of the room. 

Slowly, as if he’s walking around a bear, Bobby steps around the bed, his eyes widening when a crumpled version of John comes into view. 

He’s in the corner next to his bed, and he hurries to tug up his sleeves when his wide, terrified brown eyes meet Bobby’s. 

His wrists are bloody. 

Bobby rushes forward before his mind can register his actions, falling onto his knees in front of John and pushing his sleeves away from his wrists to get a better look at what had to be a nightmare. 

Two horizontal cuts line his wrists, hot blood seeping out and dripping onto the floor, onto his clothes, onto Bobby’s hands. 

He calls for someone, _anyone,_ even as a teary-eyed John shakes his head and tries to stop him. His mouth opens and closes in wordless pleads as he tries to quiet Bobby’s frantic yells, shaking his head in tiny, jerky motions. 

Somebody’s there in seconds, and then five more people, and all John can see is Piotr stepping in and then turning around, clearly intent on keeping the children’s eyes safe from whatever terrible picture he must make. 

Everything fades to black then, and John hopes that it’s over. 

~ 

It’s not. 

John’s eyes open again and he’s not in his bed, instead in Bobby’s, tucked loosely beneath the covers. 

He sits up, a moment of confusion fresh on his face, before it all comes back. 

Understanding, and then disappointment pass through his features. 

He made it. John Allerdyce lives another day and Pyro remains gone forever. 

He’s in a fresh change of clothes, a soft pair of pajama pants and a shirt that’s too big on him. Bobby’s. When he looks down at his wrists, they’re cleanly wrapped in oddly white bandages.

He’s alone. For now. 

When he pulls himself to his feet and looks around, he briefly wonders why he isn’t in his own bed. But when he steps around he can see that while his sheets have been changed, blood still lingers in the floorboards. 

It’s almost painful, and John turns away. He wonders where Bobby’s been sleeping. 

He steps out into the hallway only to find it empty. Classes must be in. 

He feels vaguely tempted to turn around, to go back to sleep and pretend he hadn’t woken up at all. 

But instead he keeps moving, pushing a shaky hand through his probably-messy hair as he steps into the kitchen. 

He finds the semi-familiar blue Kurt Wagner sitting at the counter, nursing a mug of something warm. 

When John enters he looks up, yellow eyes wide. “Oh. You are awake,” He says, his German accent forever thick. 

“Yeah, thanks for pointing that out.” John replies groggily, pouring himself a glass of water slowly. 

Kurt watches him nervously, before putting up a hesitant finger. “You should probably eat something.” 

“Probably,” he agrees, downing the water and setting the glass in the sink. “Where’s Bobby?” 

Kurt looks uneasy, before nodding to the window. “He went outside a while ago. I think he’s still out there.” 

John nods softly, feeling like a monster for not being nice to one of the least harmless mutants in the mansion. If he doesn’t count, that is. “Thanks.” 

He leaves before Kurt can say anything else, stepping outside and squinting at the bright sun that assaults him. 

He sees sitting Bobby on a bench just a few feet away, a frozen glass of ice next to him. He hasn’t noticed John yet, apparently, too busy soul-searching or something to look up. 

He does look up when John sits beside him, though, inspecting him closely before turning to look out at the grounds.

“Oh. You’re up.” He says, less surprise in his tone than before. It’s actually dull, tired. Maybe Bobby hasn’t been sleeping at all. 

John leans back, turns to watch Bobby for a while. “Yeah. I woke up.” 

He doesn’t try to sound disappointed, it just happens. 

There’s a long pause (nearly a minute, John counts), and then Bobby speaks. 

“Why did you do it?” 

“Try to do it,” John corrects, a little bitterly. 

Bobby’s knuckles are white, and whatever sliver of Pyro is left in there takes pride in such. 

John doesn’t. 

“Just tell me, John.” Bobby tries again, finally uncurling his fists and pushing a hand through his hair. 

It’s John who has to take a moment to gather his thoughts this time. 

“I wanted to die.” 

It’s as far as he’s able to get into it without feeling a pull in his chest that he doesn’t prefer, but he can tell the answer doesn’t satisfy Bobby. So he keeps going, even though his chest seems to unravel like a ball of yarn. “You wouldn’t get it. The cure, it-it takes everything from you. All that I was. That might make me a shallow person, but whatever. I just-I’m not Pyro anymore.” 

The truth hurts, and he stares at his feet rather than anything else, because the sky is too bright and the grass is too green and Bobby just makes him want to scream and sob at the same time. 

“You’re not Pyro anymore.” Bobby agrees at last, and John feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. “But you’re still John. And I’d kind of miss him if he died.” 

It’s cliche and terrible, but something about it makes John’s chest rewind and tighten like a spring. He wants to cry.

He doesn’t, only leans his head down so that it’d resting against Bobby’s shoulder, closing his eyes and trying to forget that he’s here, trapped in this terrible situation and so terribly almost-alone. But there was hope yet. There had to be. 

He wasn’t Pyro. He was John. 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh boy! This was a ride, wasn't it? I'm hoping for a happier Chapter 4 soon, but even I don't know. Hope you enjoyed, anyhow!


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes grocery shopping.

It’s another two weeks before he’s let out of anybody’s sight, but it’s mostly Bobby who’s attached himself to John. 

Bobby’d confessed that he’d been sleeping on the couch since the incident, and four hours later John very quietly requested that he sleep with him. 

“Really?” Bobby’d asked, setting his book down. 

John had only shuffled his feet and silently regretted everything. “I mean, if you want to. You don’t have to. It just . . . it gets cold sometimes, and I haven’t been sleeping so well, and-”

He rambled for a while, his hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes on the floor. 

Bobby’d agreed, to nobody’s surprise, and John slept for the first time in days. 

And now, a week and a half later, Bobby’s finally consented to let John go grocery shopping with Kitty. 

“Why don’t you just come with us?” John asks the day of his great “departure,” as it’s been called.

“Storm’s got me teaching a class.” Bobby explains, and nods when John looks up with his eyebrows knit together. “I know. But someone’s gotta do it, and we’re short on hands.” 

John knows how true that is. Aside from Storm, there’ve been no constant adults running the school. Kurt’s been in and out, as the younger kids all love him and he’s quite a good teacher, and Logan’s been in once or twice. A blonde man claiming to be Scott’s younger brother stopped in at one point, before giving a strange look and departing just a few hours later. 

“Well, I’ll be safe.” 

Bobby holds back his “don’t start any fires” joke. John silently appreciates it. 

Instead, he just says, “be safe,” and they were both somewhat okay. 

\---

“I thought we had milk at the house.” 

“Well, we do,” Kitty replies, setting the milk down in the cart. “But we always get soy, for the kids who want it. You’ve never noticed?” 

John shrugs. “I guess I didn’t pay attention.” 

Kitty watches him for a moment, leaning against the cart, before she speaks. “Go get some fresh air, John. I can finish up here.” 

“Are you sure?” He asks, but even he can tell how out of place and uncomfortable he must look. 

“I’m positive. Now go, be outside or something.” 

John reluctantly turns and finds his way out of the store and into the middle of a bright, warm day. The sun feels nice on his skin, and he locates himself to a bench and tugs off his sweatshirt so that he can bask in it. 

He sits there for a while, leaned back with eyes closed, before he feels somebody sit down beside him. 

When the stranger speaks, his eyes open.

“Why’re your wrists all bandaged up?” 

It’s the accent that makes him realize it, John thinks, and turns to face her. Rogue. 

She looks good. Her hair’s tucked behind one ear, and she’s not wearing gloves or long sleeves, instead a tank top and a pair of shorts. Though her eyebrows are knit together with concern, she’s still beautiful. 

An old part of him wants to be jealous of her. He isn’t.

But she’s asking him a question and looking at his wrists, not his face, and he snaps out of his thoughts. 

“I would’ve thought it’d be pretty self-explanatory.” 

He looks away. He doesn’t want to see her face twist in pity like everyone else’s. 

But he’ll be able to hear. To hear her say “Oh, John,” like the rest of them. He’s not stupid. 

But he doesn’t hear anything. 

And when he turns back to face her, she doesn’t look pitiful. She is, in fact, angry. 

“How could you?” She demands, sitting up straight. “You’ve got no right to do that to Bobby. To any of us.” 

“There isn’t an us anymore and you know it.” John retorts, anger bubbling up inside him even though he knows it shouldn’t. 

“You care about them just as much as I do.” Rogue argues. 

“Then why’d you leave?” John demands, standing up. Rogue stands, too, but he’s still got a good few inches on her. 

She stares him down, and John almost can’t hold her gace. But he does, and neither of them are willing to back down now. 

“Because that’s what I wanted to do. I made my choice, John.” She steps forward, wraps her fingers around his arm and pulls it forward to show him the bandages wrapped around his wrist. “Is this yours?” 

It’s odd, having her touch unassociated with pain. She’d only ever laid a hand on him once, and it certainly hadn’t been pleasant. 

This isn’t so great, either. 

He gives a heavy sigh and pushes his free hand through his hair (the blonde’s growing out, and John can remember when Mystique convinced him to dye it in the first place. “It’ll look cool,” she’d reassured him, and they proceeded to get dye all over the tent and receive one of Magneto’s chilling gazes even through their merry laughter). 

“No. It’s not.” He answers softly, and drops his eyes. Rogue-Marie-lets go of his arm. 

“Good.” Her voice is softer, filled with the kindness he used to hate her for. 

There’s a moment where they stand like that, before Marie shuffles her feet and leans forward to give John a hug. 

He assumes she only does it because she couldn’t before, but he finds himself wrapping his arms around her and appreciating the contact about as much as she probably does. 

She pulls away with a small smile, looking to the bus that’s pulled up to the curb. “Bye, John. Take it easy.” 

She turns to walk away, and he wonders where she’s going, if she even knows. But there’s something he has to tell her before she disappears like everybody else. 

“Hey, Marie!” 

She pauses and turns toward him, and inquisitive look on her face. 

“Good luck.” 

She smiles the kind of smile he’d seen between classes, at the dinner table, and that time Bobby slipped on his own ice, and John feels just a little warmer. 

“Likewise.” 

Then she turns and climbs onto the bus, and John can just make out her form finding a seat just as it jerks into motion and disappears from his sight. 

He can’t help but feel a fraction better knowing that his friend can forgive him. 

\----

“How was the store?” Bobby asks later that night, when he and John are sitting on the couch and occupying themselves with some late night cartoon. 

“Uneventful.”

He doesn’t plan on telling Bobby. Not that he isn’t a big boy who can handle his feelings, but John’s decided that some things are better when they’re private. 

“Well, that’s better than most things we do.” Bobby jokes, and John smiles a _real_ smile, for the first time in a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is late! My absolute apologies for this! I've been caught up in a lot of other projects, but I'll do my best to keep up on this by posting 2-3 times a week if I can! 
> 
> Comments + Kudos are always appreciated! I'll try to have the next chapter up by Tuesday!


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds himself transfixed with the flame from his lighter.

They thought he was getting better.

 _Everyone_ thought he was getting better.

The cuts on John’s wrists gradually healed, and all that remains now are long scars along his wrists that nobody brings in. 

He doesn’t do much from what he always does. Watches TV, sleeps, eats, sits outside and gazes longingly at his Zippo. 

But one day gaze becomes stare, and he doesn’t stop. 

Bobby steps into their room one morning only to find John sitting on the edge of what’s become _their_ bed, staring at the flame coming from his favorite shark lighter.

“John . . .” Bobby says in that quite, chastising way he always says it. Only this time he doesn’t reply. “John?” 

He doesn’t move. His eyes only flicker in front of the flame. He also doesn’t notice when Bobby kneels in front of him. 

After a while Bobby nods in understanding and departs, though his eyes are a bit sadder. 

Another day passes. This time Bobby finds him leaned against the headboard, still entranced by the flicker of the flame. 

For some reason, he doesn’t worry about John falling asleep and dropping the lighter. He simply doesn’t see it happening. 

A week passes. John doesn’t sleep or eat. His recovery makes a huge backslide, and everybody notices. 

A week turns into a week and a half, and Kitty reluctantly slips into his and Bobby’s room and sits in front of John on the bed, watching him for a long while. 

“So . . .this is happening.” She starts, gesturing to John. He doesn’t look up from the flame. He doesn’t even flinch. There are dark circles under his eyes from where he hasn’t slept, and he imagines he doesn’t look like a prize at the moment. “John, you can’t do this. It’s been a week and a half.” 

John doesn’t reply, and Kitty heaves a heavy sigh. 

“C’mon, John. Bobby’s crushed. Seriously.” 

There’s nothing. No reply. No response. 

\----

“And then the little girl, Morrigan, gave me this drawing, see . . .” 

It’s Kurt who’s talking, showing him a piece of paper that he isn’t looking at. 

Kurt’s been coming for the last three weeks, trying to tell stories that would hopefully bring John back to life. 

They don’t. 

\----

“So if you could just . . . say something, John. Anything. About how I’m an asshole, or how terrible I am, anything. Please.” 

It’s Bobby this time, sitting cross-legged across from John, who’s ever-entranced by the flame from his lighter. 

John hears a heavy sigh. “You have to sleep, or eat something other than those sandwiches Kitty leaves for you. Please.”

Rather than a reply, John’s flame flickers and no sound is heard. 

Bobby gives a broken sigh and reluctantly moves to sit beside him, leaning his head against John’s shoulder. 

John doesn’t respond, doesn’t flinch at the touch. Doesn’t do anything. Bobby silently breaks, and John doesn’t move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I'm early! I'll try to update on, maybe, Thursday?? Probably Thursday! Thanks! 
> 
> All your comments + Kudos are super great and I love all of them! Keep commenting! :)


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a very special person to snap John out of it.

It’s seven weeks in total. 

Of those, John’s been caught sleeping once, and eating enough. 

He hasn’t spoken. And he hasn’t looked up from his lighter. 

Bobby begs, pleads, to no avail. John’s stuck in the same place, reliving one moment known only to him day after day as he stares at his lighter. Nothing changes.

Until something does.

It’s a woman who arrives on a sunny morning, wearing a clean white dress with black hair and gray eyes that nobody recognizes. 

She calls herself Raven, and says that she was a friend of the Professor come to pay her respects. 

But when Bobby leads her through the house, she pauses at a door to one of the bedrooms. His and John’s bedroom, to be exact.

“What the hell is this?” Raven asks, stepping into the room and staring at John. He’s grown thin and weary, but his eyes don’t stray from the flame. 

“Hey, Pyro,” Raven says, standing there in front of him before slowly nudging his foot. As expected, he doesn’t move. 

“He won’t answer.” Bobby pipes up, leaning against the doorway. “He hasn’t looked up in weeks. How do you-” 

“You’re kidding.” Raven interrupts, shaking her head. “Have you tried taking it away?” 

“The lighter?” Bobby asks, shaking his head. “No way. He’d get upset, or something worse.” 

The woman mutters something about “why I left,” and in a matter of seconds she’s holding John’s lighter in between her slim fingers and snapping at him with apparent anger.

“Wake up. Come on. What kind of coward are you?” She demands in a sharp voice when John’s gaze moves with his lighter. Her free hand lashes out and before Bobby can stop her, it’s collided with John’s cheek. 

He sputters, eyes wide, but the woman in front of him doesn’t flinch. “You think you can spend the rest of your little life staring at a damn lighter because you can’t use it anymore? Guess what, _John_ , we’re both stuck in the same boat. So suck it up and adapt like the rest of us.” 

Bobby’s quietly terrified, and John stares at her for a long moment before realization dawns on his face and he stands. “Mystique?”

It’s his first word in weeks. His voice is rough, rusty with disuse, but undeniably his. Bobby’s heart swells. 

Raven-or apparently Mystique-smiles brightly and embraces John tightly. She sets the lighter on the bedside table behind John, not burdening either of them with it. 

Bobby’s touched, but something else occurs to him. “Wait a second, you’re Mystique?” 

The woman lets go of John, an arm still loosely wrapped around his shoulders. “Was, that is.” 

Bobby wants to be more upset, really. But she can’t be of too much harm now and John’s looking at her with admiration and he’s almost-smiling and Bobby is not willing to ruin that moment for any of them. “Why’d you want to see the Professor if you were against him all this time?” 

Raven considers a moment, before deciding that honesty’s the best policy. For once. “I wasn’t always against him. A long time ago, Charles was my brother.” 

_That_ surprises the both of them. 

“Wait, what?” 

\----

Raven’s been escorted to the Professor’s memorial and John’s finally out of his room and sitting in the kitchen. He’s eating a plate of reheated lasagna that Bobby’d forced into him, deciding that he needs something other than those sandwiches Kitty left out for him day after day.

“How’d you know her?” Bobby asks after a while, before correcting himself. “I mean, I know how you know her. I meant, like, did you know her well?” 

John nods, thinking on the question. “She was my best friend. In the Brotherhood. I didn’t know that she knew the professor, though. That’s new information.” 

“Maybe you didn’t know much about her at all,” Bobby replies, with more malice than intended. They both notice. “Sorry. I just . . . I was worried about you. When you were gone.” 

“Really?” John asks, glancing up. He says it like he doesn’t believe it.

“Yeah,” Bobby nods, sitting down across from him and skillfully avoiding his gaze. “Hey, John, did you maybe want to, you know, go out? For dinner? Or something?” 

John watches him for a moment, eyes filled with surprise. “Uh, what?” He asks, before nodding quickly. “I mean-yeah. Yeah, sure. I’d like that.” 

Bobby stares at him for a moment to make sure that this isn’t a dream, before John says something else. 

“Why now?” 

Bobby pauses, shrugging. “I just . . . don’t want to lose you. Again. And I really like you. So, I just thought, it’d be a good idea. If you want, I mean.” 

John looks at him for a long while, nearly smiling. “Well, I doubt you’ll be able to get rid of me now days.” 

Bobby watches him, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, look, I'm not late! Although I nearly was. As you can see, though, I now have a set chapter number, and a plot! So, there's that! The next chapter should be up on, maybe Wednesday? School is starting on Monday for me, so please forgive me if I'm a bit late! 
> 
> All of your Comments + Kudos make me smile, so keep posting them! Thank you!


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Bobby go on their date.

It’s awkward, obviously. As first dates go, this is not the romantic human date that John always imagined. 

They argue and negotiate until they settle on a location for said date, a tiny Italian place in the next town over. It’s a family-run place and the owner greets them with a bright smile and instructions to sit wherever. 

Bobby leads him to a quiet booth in the back and sits across from John with a nervous smile. Candles flicker on every table, but theirs seems oddly more romantic. 

“How’re you feeling?” Bobby asks, and as he says it the room chills just a bit with his nerves. 

John can’t help but watch the candle as its flame flickers endlessly. But his eyes eventually stray to Bobby and then to the menu in his hands. He tries to smile. “Better.” 

He’s not being a good date and he knows it, but he only digs his lighter out of his pocket and flicks it open. The flame doesn’t falter quite so much as the candle’s. 

Bobby’s eyebrows knit together but he doesn’t say anything about anything. “That’s good.” 

John only nods softly and tucks his lighter hesitantly away, squinting at his menu. 

Bobby momentarily gives up on his attempts at conversation, looking through his menu while he tries to find something to say. 

 

“Did you see that thing on the news last night?” It’s a useless question, Bobby already knows the answer. John never bothered himself with things as trivial as the news. 

John shakes his head anyways, glancing from his menu. “No. Anything interesting?” 

Bobby shrugs, unsure of how entertaining John’d find his discovery. “There’s a new mutant terrorist group.” 

John looks up, eyes strange. “Really? You’d think they’d be more careful, because, you know.” 

The cure. Neither of them needs to say it. 

The Iceman watches him for a moment while he idly flicks his lighter open and shut. There’s something in his eyes, but John doesn’t see it. He only focuses on his uncontrollable flame. 

He doesn’t hear the next thing Bobby says to him. Or the next. Then, the world goes back into focus. “John?” 

“What?” John asks, closing the lighter and setting it carefully on the table. 

“I’d asked if you were okay.” 

That was a loaded question. John wasn’t sure how Bobby expected him to answer.

He chose the uncomplicated way. “Yeah.” 

Bobby isn’t convinced, but he smiles and orders when the waiter comes around. John asks for the first thing he sees on the menu regardless of what it actually is, and taps his fingers on the table anxiously as he departs. 

“We don’t have to do this, you know.” The offer is quiet, unsure. “We could get the food to go, head home for the night.” 

Home. John hasn’t had one of those in such a long time.

But Bobby’s looking at him with those damn puppy dog eyes, and he feels bad for being, well, him. “No, it’s okay. I’m okay.” 

He isn’t, and they’re both too aware. The time and the place of this “date” couldn’t be more wrong. 

But they had what they had. And they had to make it work. 

John vaguely remembers hearing Mystique lecture him for hours about love, because there was nobody else to talk to about it. 

“It’s about . . . compromises.” She’d said, pacing the floor of his tent while John idly flicked his lighter open and shut. “You have to be willing to give up some things for them. Your happiness for theirs.” 

He hadn’t really been listening, until the blue woman lobbed a crumpled piece of paper at his head. “Don’t you forget that. When I was your age I missed out on someone very important.” 

John’s eyebrows rose. “You and Magneto weren’t-?” 

Mystique scoffed, shaking her head. “No, seriously. That was once. And a really long time ago.” 

John still can’t help but wonder who it was that Mystique missed out on. But the other words are fresher in his mind. Compromises. He could make those. Right?

“I’m sorry,” he admits after a while, avoiding Bobby’s eyes. “I know I’m not easy to take to dinner and have a normal conversation with.” 

Bobby shakes his head, a reassuring smile on his face. “What made you think that I ever wanted normal?” 

John glances up, eyes nervous. “Well-”

His hand curls loosely around his lighter, and Bobby finds it with his own. “I asked you out because I like you. For you. Not a human, or a mutant. For John.” 

John watches him for a moment, aware of the way their fingers table together, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a smidge shorter than usual, but I wasn't really certain it needed to be expanded any further! Also, if I haven't mentioned it before, This fic is First Class-compliant, and there will be a new face around in response to Raven's person she missed out on.
> 
> The next chapter will be up by Tuesday, and comments + Kudos are always loved!


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's name is cleared.

It’s getting easier, slowly. 

John finds himself smiling more and more, talking to more and more of his old friends. It’s getting better. 

Bobby never once gave up on him, always holds his hand and tells him that it’s all okay. 

Kitty’s there to force him to his feet when he slips, and Kurt’s there to offer him a hot drink at the end of the day. 

Slowly, he begins to recover. 

“Mr. Allerdyce?” 

It’s a little girl that disturbs him from the thing he’s working on-a work of fiction loosely based off of Rogue-and he looks down at her with a raised eyebrow. “What is it, Lorna?” 

He’s been teaching a few classes here and there, so it isn’t strange to find the girl watching him with expectant eyes.

“Well, the art class doesn’t have a teacher today because Kurt’s out, so we were wondering if you could teach it.” 

John hums in thought. He hasn’t so much as doodled in the margins of his notebook in years. He’s much better at writing, he’s learned. 

But the little girl seems hopeful, and he’s again reminded of how simply _easy_ it was to be a kid. There were no sides, back then. Just friends. 

“Yeah, okay.” He says, finally standing up. The girl nearly glows, and John can’t help but smile. 

\----

“We were learning about complementary colors,” A boy says helpfully, grinning when John pretends that he knew that. 

“Okay, well,” John starts, trying to visualize something that’ll help. “You know how the colors change in the fall, right?” 

There are affirmative murmurs throughout the class, and John pushes forward. “Well, in the winter there are always really harsh colors, like blue and white and green. Those are called cool colors. They all go in a category together.” 

“But shouldn’t white be in the other category?” Someone asks, and John shakes his head. 

“You’re half right. White doesn’t belong in either category.” 

He pauses, hoping he’s right, and continues. 

“And then there are warm colors, like red and orange and yellow.” 

John thinks, smiling as the class began to understand what he’s saying and murmur to one another happily. 

“Complementary colors are two of those colors that go together. Red and green are the most common and popular Complementary colors.” 

“Do the colors of fire and ice go together?” An older girl singsongs, wiggling her eyebrows. John rolls his eyes at their laughter, shaking his head. 

“I know what you're implying and everything, but no, red and blue are not complementary colors.” 

He hands out the charts Kurt left for them, rolling his eyes at the student’s jokes. 

When he glances up he sees Bobby leaning in the doorway, smiling softly at him. He returns the expression, his eyebrows raising as Bobby gestures him towards the door. 

He excuses himself-with a large amount of catcalls from his students, and joins Bobby just outside the class. “What is it?” 

“You have a visitor.” Bobby replies, taking his hand and leading him into a near-empty room. In it sits an extremely familiar blue creature. 

“Hello,” he starts, standing up and putting a hand out to shake. “My name’s Hank McCoy, I’m-”

“Beast.” John realizes, shaking his hand after a moment. “I remember you from Alcatraz.” 

He smiles, nodding, and sets out a file on the table between them. “Yes, of course. Well, usually, I work with the government when I’m not saving mutantkind, and despite our best efforts, mutant discrimination is still out there, and quite a few people want to know if Pyro is really dead.” 

John’s mouth goes dry and he sinks into the chair next to him. “Of course,” he murmurs, and he feels from somewhere far off Bobby drag a chair up beside him. 

Hank looks sympathetic, and opens the file. “For everyone’s sake, I think it’s best if we make this as quick as possible.” 

In the file there are quite a few pictures of Pyro, stealthily taken while attending rallies or protests. 

They’re all the same, besides the changing backgrounds. Until it all changes. 

This one’s real, a snapshot taken off of Mystique’s ancient polaroid camera. Magneto constantly told her how dangerous it was to keep, but she never listened. 

In this photo it’s a picture of Magneto looking through some papers and John’s behind him, a flame on his fingers as he grinned brightly. 

John reaches out for it before he can’t stop himself, and Hank nods softly in the universal “it’s okay” gesture. 

“That one was left behind. A survivor of a forest fire we’ve been assuming you created.” 

That was his job. Look around, burn the tracks, don’t leave a trace. 

Apparently he hadn’t done a very good job. 

“Uh-yeah.” John says, not relinquishing hold of the photo just yet. “Can I keep this?” 

“Of course.” He grants, and John sets it hesitantly down on table. “I’ve spoken with the board, and because you were a minor at the time and your crimes were much less relevant than Magneto’s, they’re willing to drop charges as long as you agree to a few of their terms.” 

Bobby grips his hand, and John feels a little better. “What kind of terms?” 

Hank shrugs, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stares down at his files. “Well, if, somehow, your powers return, you must promise to not return to the Brotherhood or any associations like it.” 

John glances between the blue face and Bobby, who squeezes his hand. He’d respect whatever choice John would make. 

But John won’t leave Bobby, not again. “Deal,” he confirms, looking to Bobby. “You’re gonna have to try harder to get rid of me, Drake.” 

Bobby rolls his eyes. But he looks so relieved, it almost makes John smile. 

“The next term is that, should Magneto’s powers also return, you won’t associate with him in any way.” 

It’s almost cruel, but John nods. “Okay. I can agree to that.” 

Hank smiles, clearly pleased with how smoothly things are going. “As for the rest of the Brotherhood-” 

“No.” John interrupts, leaning back in his seat. “I’m not willing to stop speaking to my friends.” 

Hank, understanding, shifts the files in his hands. “I thought that was unfair to ask of you. I’ll remove it.” 

He makes a few marks on his paper before looking back to John. “The last thing is that you must ask any former Brotherhood members to register themselves to the government, mutant or not. You don’t need to turn them in, just suggest the option to them. It’s important that they have the opportunity if they want it, and we aren’t going to put them in jail or cure them unless they voluntarily wish to be.” 

“Do you have that in writing?” John retorts, and Bobby squeezes his hand. 

Hank smiles softly, nodding. “Yes. And signed.” 

John seems to relax. “I don’t have contact with most of them, but I’ll tell Raven.” 

Hank pases, his eyes meeting John’s with something strange in them. “Raven, you said?” 

His voice is soft, and John nods. “Yeah. You know her?” 

He could swear there’s a blush on Hank’s face, but he doesn’t bring it up. “I knew her, a long time ago. I made many mistakes in that day, but losing her was the biggest I can think of.” 

All at once, it clicks for John. He pauses, eyebrows raised in surprise, before nodding gently. “I’ll see what I can do about her. I don’t know how willing she’ll be to associate herself with the government.” 

Hank smiles, nodding softly in understanding. “I trust you’re perfectly capable, John. Thank you.” 

“My name’s cleared?” John confirms, looking up. Hank nods, closing the file with a sense of finality. 

“Absolutely. You’re no longer a wanted man, congratulations.” 

\----

“Why are you doing this again?” Bobby asks, watching John pace the floor of their bedroom with his cell phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. 

John shushes him, grinning. “Sh, it’s ringing. Isn’t it obvious?” 

“Apparently not.” 

“Well, they’re in lo- Hey, Raven, there’s a guy here that you should probably see.” 

He pauses, listening, before shaking his head. “Why not? You don’t even know who it is. And don’t you want to see me?” 

Bobby glances over at John’s lighter, which sits harmlessly on the bedside table. It hasn’t been touched in weeks, but John glances at it every time he rolls over in the morning. Bobby doesn’t ask, and John doesn’t tell. It works, somehow. 

“Tomorrow afternoon. Perfect. I told you, it’s a surprise. Yes. No. Bye.” 

He snaps his phone shut with a click, smiling as he threw himself on his own barely-used bed. Bobby’s in the other bed, and while he stares at the ceiling he almost feels like they’re back in school. 

“Three years.” Bobby says, and John rolls over to see him. 

“Since we were in school.” Bobby explains, his eyes meeting John’s and not leaving. 

John whistles lowly and breaks their eye contact to again stare at the ceiling. “Doesn’t feel that long.” 

He feels the bed dip with Bobby’s weight, and then feels his arms wrap around him warmly. “I was thinking that it felt longer.” 

They’re both right. John turns and presses his lips to Bobby’s, but it’s nothing like when they were in school. It’s slow, easy, unlike the rushed, desperate kisses they shared as teens. 

When they pull away, they both smile. 

“You’re blushing.” Bobby points out, a finger coming up to prod at John’s cheek. 

He swats at it lightly, shaking his head. “No I’m not. You’d better get your eyes checked, Drake.” 

The Iceman rolls his eyes, but smiles anyways. “Maybe it’s you with the problem, Allerdyce.” 

“Always have had problems, always will.” He replies with a bright smile, and leans in to kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! This, for some reason, was terribly difficult for me to edit, mostly because I'm lazy. 
> 
> The next chapter will be up by Monday!


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven reunited with Hank, and things are pretty good.

“Why am I here, John?” 

“Would you just trust me for five minutes?” 

Raven rolls her eyes but lets John lead her down the hallways of the mansion. 

John stops at a closed door and when he opens it, Raven’s jaw drops. 

Hank’s there, in all his blue and furry glory, looking as nervous and fidgety as a teenager. Raven watches him for a moment before stepping into the room, steely gray eyes soft. “Hank.” 

He nods softly, smiling. “It’s been a long time, Raven." His face becomes a mixture of grief and sympathy. “I’m so sorry about what happened to you.” 

Raven starts to shake her head, but stops. It isn’t okay. “I’ll be fine.” She pauses, smiling back at him. “There was a time when I dreamed of this happening. Now it’s not so great.” 

It’s clear that Hank’s trying to find something to say, and John raises an eyebrow. “I’ll be in the kitchen, if anyone needs me.” 

He doubts anyone will. He takes his leave and strides toward the kitchen, joining Kurt at the table. 

He looks at John for a while before smiling to himself, looking away. 

“What’re you smiling about?” John asks, glancing over at the man. He shrugs, scarred blue skin catching the light. 

“Nothing. You just look much better. Than before.” Kurt explains, standing up to deposit his dishes in the sink. “Happier.” 

John nods softly, leaning back in his seat. “I am. Yeah.” 

Kurt smiles at him again. “That is very good. Happiness is very important.” 

John nods softly, and looks up when Bobby steps into the room, kissing his cheek as he passes. “How’d your matchmaking mission go?” 

“Perfect, thank you very much.” He retorts, smiling softly. “I told you, don’t doubt my abilities.” 

“Never could,” He promises, sitting down beside him. “I hear you asked Storm about teaching a class of your own.” 

Smiling, John leans against Bobby, nodding. “Yeah. We don’t have a creative writing class. It just seems like a nice opportunity for the kids.” 

Bobby grins, leaning his head against John’s. “I think it’s a great idea.” 

John smiles back at him and closes his eyes, decisively ignoring Kurt’s cooing and laughter. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's really short and sweet, but I needed to establish a few things and get some affairs in order before posting the last and final chapter! I have to be honest with you, it's a pretty good ending, if I do say so myself. 
> 
> It should be up about Wednesday!


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End.

“John! Do you think you could cover my class in an hour?” 

“I can’t, I’ve got a class of my own, remember?” 

Storm looks a little disappointed but smiles, shaking her head. “Of course, I forgot. Have a good class.” 

John waves in return, heading down the hall to his and Bobby’s room. 

It’s empty, and he lays down on his bed with a heavy sigh, stalling the inevitable, before he stands up and continues to pack his things. 

They’d both decided that they had far too much junk they didn’t use, and became set on clearing out the room in some attempt to get rid of the sloppy teenagers inside of them. 

John’s bed was removed, because they only ever use Bobby’s now, and half-filled boxes litter the floor and desk. 

The newfound writer sets a box on the bed and sits down beside it, digging through the drawers of his bedside table. 

There isn’t much. Two old school assignments he never turned in, an unreturned library book, and a single sock. 

He sets the library book to the side and tosses the rest, looking to the tabletop for anything disposable. 

The first thing he sees is the photo of him and Magneto, and he decides to keep it. It’s sentimental, but he can’t help it. He picks it up and moves to the other side of the room to hang it on their bulletin board, next to the pictures of their other friends. Including a fairly recent one of Hank and Raven, holding hands and grinning at one another like teenagers. 

He returns to the edge of the bed, and then his eyes catch on something familiar.

His old lighter.

It’s been a year since he last picked it up. But other than the thin layer of dust, it hasn’t aged a day. 

His stomach clenches, and he’s tempted to simply throw it into a box and never look at it again. But he must be terribly sentimental because he picks it up, wiping the dust away with the sleeve of his shirt. There are two long scars across his wrists still, and he doesn’t make it a point to hide them, but he has a class today. The kids know, but they don’t need to see the proof. Not the younger ones.

For old time’s sake-Jesus, he sounds like an old man-he looks fondly at it, before slowly flicking it open. 

\----

“Hey, Bobby?” 

The Iceman turns to look down the hall at Storm, an expectant look on his face. 

“Cover a class for me?”

“When?” 

Storm shrugs, looking at her watch. “Forty-five minutes?” 

Bobby smiles at her, nodding. “Of course. You look like you need a nap, Storm.” 

The woman sighs, shaking her head. “If only.” 

She rushes off and Bobby continues his walk towards his and John’s room, smiling to himself. 

When he reaches the doorway and catches sight of John’s familiar brown hair (Raven’d tried to get him to go blonde again, but he’d rebuffed her attempts), he opens his mouth to speak, but the rest of the picture makes him stop. 

He sees John sitting on the edge of their bed, his eyes trained on something familiar.

His old lighter sits on the sheets beside him. 

The flame in his palm remains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but I can't help posting this as soon as it's done because it's definitely fulfilled my life forever. The ending was tricky, but I'm hoping I did it justice. 
> 
> I'll be working on a few more works in this pairing, so hopefully you enjoyed this enough to look me up! Comments + Kudos are greatly appreciated, and I'd love to know what you thought!


End file.
